


Aside the Outlaws

by thewanderingknight



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:47:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27840091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewanderingknight/pseuds/thewanderingknight
Summary: Life with your newfound family among the Van der Linde Gang is pretty rough and tumble, but your modest skill of riding sidesaddle could benefit the gang while infiltrating a wealthy Lemoyne estate.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Reader
Kudos: 14





	1. The Trojan Horse

Life at Clemen’s Point moved slowly, or so you surmised, especially during the downslide of the day, when chores were done and the rest of the gang had not yet returned from their missions. You kept yourself busy, tidying your shared tent with Arthur, washing clothes, picking herbs for Kieran to fashion into tonics for the horses. You climbed the small hill and waved to him, greeting your bay Turkoman, Godiva. She nickered as you gave her grain for the evening and set a curry brush to her, getting lost in the motion. The shout from the guard pulled you out of your reverie. Your eyes scanned for Arthur’s blue shirt and you smiled when you saw him ride up behind Lenny.  
He smiled as he saw you walking towards him. “Hi, handsome,” you cooed as he hopped off his dapple Thoroughbred. You stroked the jagged stripe on the horse’s face.  
“Hey to you, too.”  
“I was talking to him,” you gestured at his horse with a coy smile, as Arthur pinched your hip and you squeaked, leading him to the tent.  
“Go and change outta those clothes, I’ll wash them tomorrow,” you said as he sat down and stiffly pulled off his boots. You kissed his temple before going to fetch some stew for him.  
“What kinda trouble you get up to today?” you asked when you returned, handing him a bowl.  
“Ah, just some scoutin’. We’re checking out another one’ah these families down here.”  
“Which one?”  
“The Pilot Plantation,” he answered through a mouthful of stew. “One with them huge gardens. Ladies riding sidesaddle and whatnot.”  
“Really? It’s 1899. Them things is kinda outdated, right?”  
“You’d know, darlin’. When’s the last time you rode sidesaddle, anyhow?”  
You let out a breathy laugh, “Longer’n it should be, I guess. Daddy’d be cussin’ my uncle, knowin’ he sold my saddle, not before cussin’ me for joinin’ up with some outlaws.” You touched your hat hanging from the tent post. It was a wide, stiff-brimmed hat your father had never left home without, and now adorned your head most days.  
On the small table next to the cot, a small portrait of your mother sat next to the one of Arthur’s mother, the two of them staring out side by side. Your mother was delicately poised atop a proud Palomino Saddlebred, her smile beaming from under a round bonnet. Apart from Godiva, these were the only remaining vestiges of your life before the Van Der Linde Gang.  
You gathered Arthur’s discarded clothes in your arms and leaned down to peck his lips. “Feels like a different life now, anyhow,” and swept out of the tent, away from burgeoning thoughts of lives long gone. 

*****

The next day, Arthur stayed close to camp. The two of you slowly walked the shores of Flat Iron Lake; Arthur was looking for a decent fishing spot with his rod slung over his shoulder, and you walked behind him, scanning the ground for herbs and flowers to collect, placing them in your satchel. A good portion of the morning found Arthur wading barefoot into the lake, whistling as his line sung off his spool. He turned to see you with an armful of wildflowers, cautiously stepping your way to the top of a boulder poking out into the lake a few yards away, dipping your feet into the cool water. The lining of your chemise caught the tips of small waves and soaked up the water, clinging to your legs. You watched him fish, content with the silence and the hot sun warming the boulder. You shifted your hat, and found yourself staring at the fuzzy line on the lake where the steel water toed with the cloudless sky.  
You were startled back to the present when Arthur splashed some water your way. You jumped into the knee-high water with your dress bunched in your hands, Arthur guiding you back to shore by your waist to share in some lunch.  
The afternoon found Arthur with a good haul of trout that he had gilled and prepared for Pearson, and you with a satchel stuffed full of berries and flowers. You began your march back to camp. At one point you had looked back at the rounding of the shoreline to see the pair of footprints you and Arthur left in the sooty sand; his deep lengthy stride cut deep, while yours flitted across the surface. What a pair the two of you made.You smiled at the thought.  
You crossed through camp and dropped off your contributions to Pearson. Dutch had waved Arthur over to his tent before you had emptied your satchel, and he had skulked over with Bill, Micah, and John. You noticed Arthur’s tackle box on the table, and picked it up to return it to him. He was standing outside Dutch’s tent, leaning against the tent pole with his arms crossed. He looked at you walking towards him. You held up his tackle box and began to lift his satchel flap to return it as Dutch poured over a map and loudly spilled ideas of his new scheme.  
“He’s havin some.. garden party or some such. During the day.”  
“What’s the take like?” Arthur barked while you clasped his satchel shut.  
“Risky, but he’s got bonds in there. In the house.” Dutch tapped the map.  
“You thinkin’ somethin’ quiet?” Hosea chimed, “gotta be someone who can play the part. Quick, no fuss. Put on an act. You or I, maybe..”  
“Ah, we don’t wanna spread our faces ‘round here too much, with all the dust we’re kicking up with the sheriff in Rhodes. Gotta be someone else. A low profile.” Dutch’s slow unveiling of words composed the ideas of the men around him. They buzzed around each other, battling for position.  
Before you could stop yourself, or think about why you were leaning forward, you spoke out.  
“I can do it.”  
All heads turned.The looks had completely stilled you. All but Dutch, who’s careful gaze never left the table. You took a breath and continued. “I can do it. Nobody would know me there. And, ladies ride side saddle around their gardens. I can do that. I know how to do that. These families down here with deep roots, they seem to….appreciate tradition.” Arthur reached for you, but you grabbed his forearm and stepped forward even more. “Reckon I can ride in there, like I’m a lady of nobility or some such to ride through their gardens, figure out where the bonds are, or let some of the boys in through the back and take em’ all. A lady without an escort, even, would cause a distraction, giving you a way in. Could probably hide somethin’ underneath my skirt for...insurance.”  
“Our own trojan horse, as it were,” Hosea smiled.  
“Your little maid’s got ideas, Morgan,” Micah sneered, at which point Arthur stepped up behind you. No matter, your eyes remained on Dutch, hunched over and hands sprawled over the map, the lantern hanging from the tent ceiling illuminating his sleek hair.  
“I did see an old side saddle for sale at the Stables in Saint Denis…” Trelawney chimed.  
“Arthur put you up to this?” Dutch drawled.  
“No sir,” you lifted your chin, “I am capable of making my own decisions. Figure I’d like to help the camp, is all.”  
“Oh I know you are, dear, and I admire that.” He finally looked up and met your gaze. You held it, only a little nervous, remembering the time when you were young and got caught between the fence and a large Shire stud. “Let me think on this. It’s simple enough it could work without a hitch. Trelawney, take her into town to make sure she looks the part. Arthur, go with ‘em and make sure her horse looks the part as well.”  
The light from the lantern bloomed as the heat around you dispersed, all the men had walked away. You caught a glance from Arthur and again without really thinking, walked to the shores of the lake, stiff-legged. The fingers of waves stroked the toes of your lace-up boots.  
You had never done something like this before. Not even the small-scale coach robberies you would see Karen, Mary-Beth, and Tilly all return from, never minding taking over their chores for that day. But now? Well, you had something to offer, and you didn’t want to give that up. An actress you were not, but even if Bill could play a drunken idiot, the role of a high society woman would come to you just as easily.  
In your tent, you walked in on Arthur hunched over his journal which he promptly snapped shut when he saw you enter. He had laid out your night clothes on the cot in a learned attempt to mimic how you would fold extra clothes for him; always making sure he had a winter coat and an extra union suit packed on his horse. He got up and immediately handed you an open bottle of whiskey.  
“What an odd reward system,” you smiled before taking a long swig.  
“Just thought you needed somethin’ after today,” he simply replied. You handed the bottle back and grabbed your night clothes, beginning to change. Arthur took a sip and stared at the bottle. You looked at him after you slipped out of your dress, wondering at his lack of attempt to seat you on his lap, like he usually tried.  
“Are... you surprised?” you tried.  
“No, no. Well, maybe a little.”  
“You think I can’t do it?”  
“No! It’s not like that!” He sat back down on the cot. Took another swig. Looked at you.  
You grabbed the bottle from him and took another gulp. You knelt between his legs and began to undo the buttons on his shirt. He gently grasped your shoulders, rubbing with his thumbs.  
“You already do so much for the camp. For me,” he started quietly, ”even when I don’t ask you to.”  
“You do too much for the camp,” your words gently clamped down on him. “And I want to do things for you, how many times I gotta tell you?”  
“Probably ‘til I believe it.”  
“Then what’s the matter, Arthur?” you tilted your head to look at him, the only thing in your vision.  
“You want to do this? I mean, for real.”  
At the time, you wouldn’t realize that he might have been asking, even after all this time you had been with him, if you wanted him. If you wanted a small portion of the work that forced his hand, forged his workhorse mentality that snorted after a long day in the yoke. That you would willingly become a part of whatever happened after leaving the camp. Not just for the gang, but for him. With him.  
“Yes.”  
He pressed your foreheads together with the light finality and deliberation of a seal in wax before it cools. “Alright then.”


	2. The New Riding Corset

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Preparing for the heist on the Pilot Plantation leads to a discussion that opens up aspects of your relationship with Arthur neither of you realized you needed to think about.

“Okay, Josiah, what do you think of this one?” You yanked the curtain back and stepped into the polished hallway of the tailor’s, arms extended to display the black velvet riding habit you wore. The sleek velvet hugged your arms, and the low neckline came to a clasp at the front that revealed a stiff white collar. The skirt hugged your waist, and floated just above the ground as you walked. You pulled at it a bit as Trelawney fussed over you for a moment, smoothing the fabric over the shoulders and straightening your collar. He turned you toward the large, ornate mirror in the corner.   
“My dear, they’ll never know what hit them,” he smiled over your shoulder.   
You stared at your figure and thought of your mother’s portrait back at camp. You looked just like her. The thought steadied you, and you returned the smile to Trelawney.   
You grabbed your hat from Trelawney and stuffed it on your head. He scowled for a moment at the sight of it, but let you be. He opened the door and escorted you through the streets of Saint Denis to the stables, where Arthur had taken Godiva to get fitted for the sidesaddle.   
You turned the corner around the stable and saw Arthur standing with Godiva near the sidewalk.   
“Oh, she looks beautiful,” you muttered as you approached. She nuzzled your shoulder as you adjusted the new bridle. You walked around her, checking the girth on the saddle. Arthur gave her an affectionate pat on her neck.   
“Now my dear, make sure Arthur helps you up. That’s the proper way to do it. A lady never mounts on her own. Arthur,” he turned sharply, gesturing at you, “I bring you a radiant young woman. A lady of fine distinction. Please return her to camp looking just like this. We could do without your ruffian ways for an afternoon.” He gives you a succinct bow cut at the waist, and cleanly turned and headed back up the street, hand in the air, waving. Arthur absentmindedly waved him off.  
“I can’t make any promises,” Arthur had already turned towards you, eyeing your new habit.   
You posed in front of him, “What do you think?”  
Arthur leaned in, “Are you...wearing a new corset?” His voice pinched.   
“Shh, Arthur!” You giggled. “A lady never tells.” You raised an eyebrow. “Well?”  
“Darlin’, what can I say? You’re beautiful. A lady indeed.” You blushed, moving your hand to comb through Godiva’s forelock, unsure of how to respond to Arthur’s bluntness. She leaned her large head into your chest and let out a heavy sigh.   
“Can we walk for a while? I want to wait until we have enough space before I get on, just in case.”  
“Course, let’s go.”   
You walked side by side, your horses as bookends to you and Arthur. A soft sunset fell over the quiet neighborhood on the outskirts of Saint Denis. The horses’ hooves clopped along the cobblestone, echoing the other’s steady rhythm. You held Godiva’s reins in one hand, and took Arthur’s arm in the other. He smirked down at you from beneath the shadow of his hat as confirmation, and hiked up his arm a bit to let your hand rest on his forearm.   
“Lookitchu, princess. Reckon this is what you’d wear if you stayed in that life?” He asked.   
“What life?” You looked up at him quizzically.   
“You know, before.”  
“I suppose. Never really thought about it before, seein’ as I fell in with you lot not long after I ran away. Feels a little strange, though. Dressin’ up in something that I only knew of as a child, an’ now I’m gonna rob people lookin’ like this. In this new life,” you stared at him pointedly.  
“Ah, I didn’t mean nothin’ by it. Just that, well, you look like you belong in that thing. Proper like.”  
“Well, who was it that said ‘clothes make the man’? Or in this case, a woman. Bet you’d look handsome in a nice suit,” you squeezed his forearm, prompting his eyes to yours. “Not that you need one to be handsome, mind.” You shot him a toothy grin, one that has been successful in the past.  
He just shook his head, like he was trying to shake loose leaves to the ground, and continued forward. His silence lingered in your mind, rattling in the empty space that should have been filled with words. Either yours, or his. Didn’t matter to you, but it felt opened and unsafe, like an ill-fitting stirrup when you can’t feel the horse, and the horse can’t feel you. The horse was free to move in any direction, unless you guided it.   
You walked on further, until you reached the last house before the bridge.   
“Arthur, wait.” you paused, unsure of the words. Your horses stopped, sandwiching your conversation between them. “I don’t rightly know how to say, but...but you haven’t really said anything ‘bout me being a part of this plan Dutch is cookin’ up. About this being my first. I never really had to join you boys before, seein’ as I pull my weight around camp helping Miss Grimshaw with the cleanin’ or Kieran with the horses, and I guess-- I guess I’m just wondering how you feel ‘bout it. That matters to me. And I don’t want you to say you don’t feel anythin’ ‘bout it. Just... tell me what you’re thinking.” You stopped suddenly, at the edge of your flowing words before the plummet off a waterfall.   
Godiva snorted. Arthur’s horse stamped a foot.   
“Why don’t you start with tellin’ me how you feel about it.”  
“Arthur! That’s--”  
“You tell me, and I’ll tell you.” Your face narrowed, then softened.   
“Oh, I don’t know. Nervous, but excited. I’ve always kind of envied you boys. I think it’s brave, in a way. And now I get a chance to be brave, too. Like I have a purpose or somethin’, I don’t know…” you eyes moved down the bridge, the sun glinting off the river. You looked back at him, now casually standing next to his horse with an arm over his horse’s neck. He just looked at you and smirked. “Okay, I said my piece! Now you!” You pointed at him, fighting the smile on your face that was infected by his own grin.  
“Well,” he groaned as he straightened himself, “Dunno why I’ve been quiet. You know I won’t stop you from doing what you want.”  
You sighed. “Arthur- now I know what Hosea keeps complainin’ about!”  
“What?” He stared at you, eyes wide, took a half-step back.  
“Please, please don’t do me the disservice of pretending you don’t know what I’m talkin’ ‘bout.” His gaze softened, he dips his head and sticks his hands to his wide hips, boots shuffling on the gravel. You forced out a sigh, and turned towards Godiva, only then to hear him speak up.   
“I’m...nervous too.” You whip your head back to him. His hat is still shielding him from your eyes, you let him speak softly to the ground, knowing it’s for you. “I always thought, keepin’ you safe was easy. And now, feels like you could fall through the ground at any moment.” His words strained in the back of his throat; he coughed and quickly wiped his mouth with the back of a hand. You rubbed the soles of your boots into the ground. “But, I don’t want you feelin’ like you’re chained at camp--”  
“I don’t--!” you interjected.  
“But--” His hat tipped up, his blue eyes on you, “I’m proud, darlin’. Proud of you. I can feel differen’t things, can’t I? Nervous ‘bout what could happen. Proud that you can do all these things with such grace, it makes me look more like a brute.”  
A thought taps the back of your mind if he had thought that all along. He gingerly reached for your hand, holding it in his open palm. The slow brushing of fingertips ignited a memory, something of painted white teacups in a room that remained off-limits, and an excitement that shivered in your chest when you were finally handed one of those cups.   
“You’re not a brute, Arthur.”  
“Well don’t go wavin’ that around,” you saw a small smile emerge. You pressed your hand into his.   
“So you, kinda like that I’m doin’ this?” You looked up.  
“I do. We all gotta take a chance, right?”  
“You know, I couldn’t have done it without you behind me, right?”   
Arthur scoffed, “you seemed to be doing just fine on yer own.”  
“It’s true!” you countered with a light laugh. “This is my first time, how would I have known what to do? Good thing I got my brute by my side.” You playfully hit his chest with the back of your hand.   
“It’s a role I know well, sweetheart.”  
“You act it well. Is he the Hyde to your Jekyll, love?” you jest.   
He scrunches his face. “Weren’t they the same man?”   
“Hyde is born from indulging in vices, though.”   
“How many books you got your hands on?”  
“My point is,” you paused, unable to keep a smile straining the tips of your mouth. “With me in this dress, seems like it’s hard for us to keep runnin’ away from the past when we’ve got all these reminders.” You thumbed the visible scar on Arthur’s shaved chin. “Usin’ the only things we know to disguise ourselves.” He raised his eyebrows slightly. “My past, and yours. Maybe we’d be different people if it weren’t for our pasts. But the life in front of us, now, that’s the one I want. It led me to you... You’re the man I want.” You pulled on his hands to help you onto your tiptoes, gently pressing a kiss to the fleshy corner of his mouth, the tip of your nose sliding along his cheek. He looked down and choked out a laugh. “Don’t you go bein’ embarassed, my love.” You decided to let that sit, and moved on. “Now be a dear and help me up.”   
You turned around to check Godiva’s girth and tightened it. Arthur stood close by, and stooped next to you, laying his interlaced hands on his bent knee.  
“My lady,” Arthur cooed as you steadied your hands on the leaping pommel and cantle of the saddle, then lunged upwards with help from Arthur who supported you until you could sit proper.   
“Oh, you a gentleman now, Arthur?”  
He laughed, “Never tried but, perhaps it’ll suit me. So, how do you feel?”  
Your mind had split for a moment, reconciling the feeling of something so old and familiar. You had felt empty on your right side. You had been riding astride for so long, it had become second nature to feel Godiva through both legs. Now, with your right leg tucked above the leaping pommel, closer to her shoulder, you tried hard not to move the deadweight leg. Godiva sensed the hesitancy, here ears swiveling back towards you.   
“Oh, blacksmith gave me this, too.” Arthur revealed a long, thin cane from the scabbard on his saddle that he handed up to you. You grasped it in your right hand with the gathered reins, and let the end rest near Godiva’s ribs. You could feel her move against your left calf. Perhaps she was taking the time to remember this old role, as well.   
“Dear me, it has been a while,” you breathed, adjusting your position, rolling your shoulders back, flexing your hands.   
“How ‘bout a walk across the bridge, loosen you both up?” Arthur swung into the saddle and you followed him, feeling the sway left to right of Godiva’s steps in your hips. You steadied her through the reins, and tapped her with your left heel as she smoothly leg yielded to the right. You tried to mimic the motion with the cane, and she yielded again to the right. You zigzagged across the bridge, looking at Arthur who had turned in the saddle to watch you.   
“Looks like you got the hang of it!”  
“I believe we do!” You shouted back over the clops of hooves on wood. A giggle fell from your lips. When was the last time you remembered riding as, well, fun? “Hey!” you shouted at Arthur, who looked back with raised brows, “when’s the last time we took a ride just for the fun of it?”  
“Uh, never.” he replied flatly.  
You squeezed Godiva between your calf and the cane, and tapped her again so she sprung forward into a happy canter, flowing past Arthur.   
“Well? Come on, then!” You pulled him with your laughter, following behind you.   
“Hey now!” Arthur gathered his horse into a canter and followed suit, the horses surging through the turn of the dirt trail past Caliga Hall and under the canopy of trees.   
Your hair fell out of its carefully plaited low bun, and you lifted your hat to let the rest fly back in the wind. The world rushed past you; you had almost forgotten the feeling. Godiva’s stride confidently struck the earth as she leapt forward, covering ground nose to nose with Arthur’s horse. The wind took hold of your ears and cooled your face after a day in the sun. Your cheeks grew sore from holding a smile. You snaked through a purple Lemoyne, the crickets creating song as Godiva slowed to a trot just outside Clemen’s Point. Your hair wild, smile wide, you turned to Arthur who reflected the beating in your chest that just could not seem to slow down. You felt warm without whiskey, and it made you giggle.   
You walked the horses down the path, letting the flicking campfire guide you back. Dutch sauntered toward you, arms stretched wide. “Look at this, we’ve got our very own Belle Starr!”  
You playfully tipped your hat at him. It was almost too perfect, playing to Hosea’s con artist methods and Dutch’s philosophy of the gentleman thief and looking the part.   
Arthur hitched his horse, then raised his arms to help you down. Once your feet hit the ground, you looked up at him.   
“This is the first time I’ve been aside since, before. Thank you for making it fun.” He gave you a toothy grin. “So much for discarding your ruffian ways for an afternoon.”  
“Somethin’ tells me you like it when I play the brute,” He growled, gripping you closer and drawing a line with his nose down your neck that earned him a squeak.   
Later, In Arthur’s tent, your skirt hiked up, astride his lap, he finally asked, “can I see it?” You laughed into his temple as your fingers fumbled with the clasp on your jacket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Belle Starr was (kind of) a real person! Most notable are her velvet riding outfits, her mare named Venus, and a pistol always on her hip.  
> Also: I am very much leaning towards a HH Arthur in this.  
> As much as I’d love to try riding side saddle, I’ve never actually done it, and can only assume what it would “feel” like based on my 15+ years of astride riding. If anyone can weigh in, please do!
> 
> Again, thanks for reading. Aside the Outlaws is also available on tumblr.


	3. The Sawed-Off Shotgun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day of the con looms closer and closer. Your family helps you prepare to step over the threshold as a true outlaw.

A sticky slow morning kissed your eyes awake, warm sunlight making the tent canvas glow. Your chemise was damp with sweat. Arthur groaned next to you, “it’s too goddamn hot.” You hummed your agreement, voiced hardening as you stretched out, shoulders and hips popping.  
Arthur guffawed, “what was that!”  
You laughed and sat up, sprawling across his chest, head tilted up. “Oh, you know all too well, mister!” His chuckle rumbled your chest. “If I’m showin’ my age it only means I’m catchin’ up to you,” you muffled into his chin.  
“Serves you right, fallin fer an old bastard,” he barked a laugh, and let it slide into a sigh.  
“Hmm,” you considered him for a moment, dragging your nose over his cheekbone, “I fell alright. Handsome bastard swept me off my feet. Can you blame me?”   
Arthur scoffed, peeked an eye open to gaze at you from under gauzy lashes, “For someone like you, he better’ve pulled out all the stops.”  
Your smile widened at his jest; you cupped his cheek with your palm and continued your sleepy roving. “Oh, yes. He knew exactly what to do. Musta been his experience comin’ from old age,” you mused, making sure he saw you return an impish stare. He rolled his eyes closed again and groaned, tightening his arm looped over your waist.   
“Only cos you deserve it, darlin’.”  
“And so does he,” you whispered back, placing a deliberate peck straight on his lips. His brow furrowed, but he didn’t protest.   
The growing warmth lent no rush to disturb the sheets that had been kicked off feet during the night. You continued your slow sweep across his face, peppering featherlight kisses. Nose, cheek, scar, forehead, brow, covered by your lips.  
“You mind this at all?” You paused between gentle pecks. Arthur remained still, one hand resting on his stomach, the other limply hanging on your hip.   
“Mm, no. ‘S’nice,” he mumbled. A small smile lifted his lips; if he hadn’t responded, you might have assumed he was still asleep.   
“Jus’ checkin’. Can’t help myself sometimes.” You shyly pressed your smile to the corner of his mouth. He opened both eyes to stare at you, and you tilted your head in return. He lifted his hand to bring your forehead to his, holding it for a moment before shifting his body.   
“Alright, time to get dressed, sweetheart. I’m fixin’ to take you shootin’ today.”  
“Why? I know how to shoot.”  
“Will you just give yer old man some peace of mind an’ accompany him today?”   
“Yes, sir,” you groaned as you rolled over him to climb out of the cot, whining into his neck. He gave your ass a playful slap. You squeaked and stumbled out of the cot. You reached back to grab hold of his hand, laughing, “let’s go, you handsome bastard. Up you get.” 

After a cup or two of coffee, you sat with Dutch and Hosea, hunched over notes and maps of the Pilot Plantation, and your role in the repossession of bonds that belong to a one Amos Pilot.   
You were to ride up on Godiva and enter the party, mingling and riding with the other guests. Trelawney was working on providing an invitation for you. Javier, Bill, John, and Sean would be slowly riding along the road that snaked just next to the property line, keeping an eye on the party. Arthur and Micah were to stay back in the treeline across the way, with a sniper rifle for a closer view, should any problems arise. When night fell, you were to sneak into the house, locate the bonds, and carry as much as you could, signaling to the boys to follow you in and help should you need it. You would be covered on all sides, and Mr. Pilot would be none the wiser, according to Hosea.   
“There’s no need for you to carry a weapon,” Dutch had said, slowly reaching his arm around your shoulders and guiding you away from his tent, “If somethin’ should happen, and people see a lady of society with a gun in her hand, well, they’ll know she ain’t workin’ alone. It’s all to protect the camp. We don’t want more people lookin’ for us, even if they don’t know it’s us they’re lookin’ for. Understand?” He gently pushed you towards Arthur’s tent and started in the opposite direction before you could voice your concern.   
You blinked down at Arthur, perched on the edge of the cot, oiling his revolver.  
“You hear that?” your voice pinched, pointing with your thumb over your shoulder.   
“I did,” he spoke camly, arranging his piece and sliding it into the holster. “‘Bout time we get some practice in. C’mon.”  
“But, Arthur--”  
“I know,” he turned on his heel, searched your eyes. “Let’s get on outta here for a bit. Okay?”  
You sighed, hands on your hips. “I getchu, Arthur.”   
“Atta girl,” he smiled, lifting your hat off the table and tossing it your way. You grabbed it and pressed it on your head, following Arthur to the horses.   
Godiva and Arthur’s mare, Britomartis, were grazing on the other side of camp by the wagon. Godiva lifted her head at your approach, ears perked forward, and lazily stepped towards you and Arthur. Her silhouette almost looked unfamiliar in the late afternoon sun. The curved leaping pommel looked too bulky compared to your old McClelland, that was now horn-down at the foot of your cot. He reached out and gave her a sturdy pat on her neck, then handed you the reins. He went to fetch Brit as you tightened Godiva’s girth. Arthur led Brit over, then wordlessly knelt down to help lift you into the saddle.  
“How’s it feelin’?” He asked as he walked around to tighten his own girth and swing into the saddle.   
“Like I’ve been ridin’ like this all my life, if’n I’m being honest,” you replied, adjusting the reins. Your right leg no longer stiffened when bending Godiva through turns, and you were getting better at rollbacks. You idly wondered about riding like this after the heist was over as you smoothed your cotton skirt over your legs.  
Arthur jerked his head and started for the trail. You weaved through Lemoyne with Arthur, letting the wind fill your ears as you rocked with Godiva’s swelling canter and stared at the fringes of the lake you could see from the road. Arthur’s whistle caught you, and you followed him off the trail and over a gentle knoll, stopping by a crop of young oak trees.   
“What’s got you?” Arthur asked, walking around to Godiva’s side.   
You stared back at the road, then turned to him, brow furrowed.   
Why’s Dutch sayin’ I don’t have to carry a weapon? It’s not like they’d be checkin’ me for chissakes. This ain’t Saint Denis.”   
Arthur sighed, resting a hand on your knee. “I’m sure he’s got his reasons…”   
“Well I’d love fer him to share. Arthur, I told him I would carry one, when I volunteered for this. I don’t get it. I’ll still be safe, right? Don’t he care?”   
“I do.”  
“‘Course the Van Der Linde enforcer cares!” Arthur threw you a stare. “Oh, I know you do. But what about him? Them? How many times has Dutch said he’d walk into hell itself knowin’ you’re watchin’ over him? But it ain’t him at this party, Arthur. It doesn’t feel right. What if somethin’ happens? What if I can’t protect myself?”  
“I always do my best to keep them safe. You know that.” Arthur lifted his arms to help you dismount Godiva. You lifted your right leg over the pommel and reached your hands down, pressing on his shoulders. He caught you round the waist and put you down. You lifted your hat and let it rest on the leaping pommel.   
“Arthur-” you started, catching him in the eyes, arms still reaching held out for each other. “I hear how Dutch speaks to you, don’t think I don’t. I know how heavy it must feel, his guard dog affection for you,” he lowered his eyes. “I hope...I will try not to be a burden to protect. I won’t let you down.”   
His eyes flicked back to you. “Darlin’,” he pulled you closer, weaving his fingers at the small of your back. The edge of his hat tapped your forehead. You lifted it off his head and held it behind his back, arms loosely hanging off his shoulders. “You will never be a burden, I can promise you that. I can’t see you lettin’ me down, neither. And Dutch, well, don’t you worry ‘bout him. Someone’s gotta look after these fools. But you? You’re my girl. I’ll always protect you.”  
Your chest tigthened. You leaned closer. “Say that again?”  
“My girl,” he rumbled, closing the spaces between your lips. His simple declaration had you yearning for more, pressing your face as close as you could. Arthur’s muffled chuckle had you pull away, looking down and breathing out a shy laugh.   
“Let’s focus first, darlin,” he said, reaching into his saddle bag and presenting you with a sawed-off shotgun, stock-first. “Yer gonna practice with this. Can’t be too careful. An’ we’re not gonna tell Dutch about it. He don’t need to know.”  
“He doesn’t?” You tilted the gun down, opening the barrel and checking the ammo.  
“No.”   
“He doesn’t need to know as in, he won’t know this is what I’ll be hidin’ under my skirt?”  
“Yes.”  
“Well okay, then.” you smiled at him, grasping the polished wood, feeling its weight in your hands. 

*****  
At dusk, the two of you made your way back to camp. Noise and motion stirred around the fire. Arthur offered to water and grain the horses, and led Godiva towards the lake. You gave her rump an affection pat as she walked away.   
“She’s a real good mare, that one.”   
You turned to see Kieran walking from the scout campfire. “Oh, thanks, Kieran. She’s definitely taken a shine to you. You’re good with her.”  
He keened, “oh it ain’t nothin, miss. Here,” he handed you a small bottle. “I made this tincture for Godiva. Should keep her spirits up, day of the mission.”  
“Thank you, Kieran! You didn’t have to do this, you do a lot for her as it is.” You walked towards the shore and settled on a large log, and he followed. Cain trotted over and settled next to you.   
“As I say, it’s really not that much. I like bein’ with the horses.” He eyed you for a moment. “Say, Miss, where’d you learn to ride like that, anyway?”  
You paused a moment, gave him a half-smile. “My pa. He raised cart horses when I was a little girl. Shires, Suffolks, you name it. Even carriage horses for the families in Saint Denis and up north. That’s how he met my mother, selling carriage horses to her family. They both taught me, really.” You paused. Cain sighed as Kieran sat up straighter. “Then, everything just... fell apart. I know it’s the same with most of these folk, but... you always feel yours. The barn caught fire and--” you wavered, “I weren’t too young to not understand. I remember it all. Remember all that was left when Godiva an’ me rode up and… we could smell…” You sniffed, steadying yourself. “My folks. All them horses. The damn dog and cats. Gone.” you gently thumbed Cain’s ear.  
“My uncle took me in, but that didn’t last very long. He took to drinkin’, and one morning I walked into the barn and Godiva weren’t there. Said he sold her for a case of moonshine. I tracked her down, galloped her right outta that stable, fast as I could. Nearly trampled Hosea. That’s how I ended up here. Never looked back after that. Godiva’s more family to me that my own rotten uncle ever was...And all you asked me was how I learned to ride side saddle.” You breathed out a laugh and turned away, quickly swatting away threatening tears.   
Kieran shifted a little in his seat, unsure, a smile falling on his face. “Does, does Arthur know?”  
“Yeah, he does. All too well.” You sighed, not knowing how many times you’ve woken him up, startled awake by nightmares. “Anyway, you seem to have a gift with horses, Kieran. I admire that, like my Pa. It’s invaluable.   
“Oh, it’s nothin’, Miss.”  
“Stop sayin’ that. It ain’t.”   
He paused for a moment. “You can tell a lot about a man in how he keeps his horse. A horse has gotta have a lotta trust in his rider, see? It’s all about trust, ‘bout taking care of one another. If you ride ‘em hard, that’s all he’s gonna think about every time you get on. But if you tend to him, he’ll push til he’s hobblin’ into the ground, just for you. It’s trust, and loyalty, and maybe a bit of faith, too.”  
You laughed, “that sounds like Dutch.”  
“I guess it all connects, ma’am,” he smiled. “Guess that’s why I put up with them all bullyin’ me. Callin’ me O’Driscoll. I just get this feelin’ that’s why Mister Arthur does it. They just need time to trust, like the horses do. At least, I hope.”  
“I know that’s why Arthur does it,” you reassured him, “That man’s stubborn as a mule, but he means no harm.”  
“Really?”  
“Oh, yeah. Trust me. Don’t tell him I told you, but he’ll always prefer to bark instead of bite,” you whispered.   
“O’Driscoll!” Arthur’s voice boomed from the edge of camp. “You botherin’ my lady?”  
“Speak of the devil!” You cried back, getting up from your spot on the log. “No, love, I was pesterin’ him,” you stopped in front of him and placed a hand on his chest. You spoke softly, “He’s taking care of Godiva, and she takes care of me. Be kind.” He rolled his eyes and sighed but squeezed your arm before you moved around him and back towards your tent.   
You stood for a time, arms wrapped around yourself as you thought back on your past. But that’s all it was now. Just the past. You heard Arthur duck into the tent, and turned to him, wrapping your arms across his waist and pressing the side of your face into his warm chest. He pulled you in close, laying a heavy hand on your head.   
“Hey,” he whispered. You lifted your head to his call. His eyes searched yours.   
Of everything on your mind, the only thing you could speak clearly was, “It’s silly. I just like bein’ close to you, is all.” You smiled and pushed your face into his chest, lightly squeezing him in your arms before pulling away. “Okay. I’ll see to fetchin’ some dinner.”  
“Darlin’--” He started, and you turned around halfway through the tent flap. “Don’t you be embarrassed by nothin’ with me, understand?”  
Your eyes met his. “I do, Arthur.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: I tend to imagine a slightly *older* reader. Late 20s, but a bit younger than Arthur.  
> This chapter is definitely an exercise in having a few pieces previously written, and then writing around them to make them fit, and I am too lazy/too in love with what I had already written to alter them, lol! 
> 
> As always, thank you for reading. This is also available by the same name on tumblr.


	4. The Pilot Plantation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day has come. Time to saddle up Godiva and show everyone that you can do this. Hopefully, the garden party heist goes off without a hitch.

One more night in this cot til the heist, you thought. Your eyes remained shut, hoping that the longer you stayed in bed, time would cease to move forward. You felt the weight of Arthur’s arm sprawled across your torso. He shifted in his sleep, his short scruff scratching your shoulder. You sighed, unable to drift back into a twilight rest. Maneuvering away from Arthur’s weight, you rose from the cot and dressed to face the day.  
You rubbed sleep from your eyes as you shuffled towards the campfire and poured yourself a cup of coffee. The cicada song was quiet as a few people were shaking off sleep and beginning to tend to chores. You ambled around camp, finally resting against a large tree, watching Godiva graze next to Brown Jack. Feeling unsure, you quickly drained the hot liquid and rose from your spot, making a bee line for the log on the shoreline. The gentle lapping of water only irked you, so you shot up from the log and walked back to your tent. Arthur had only just gotten up, legs dangling off the side of the cot. He watched you dart from one corner of the tent to the next, opening your chest then closing it, rearranging the keepsakes on the table, organizing the camp’s ammo stock. He stood, silently pulled you close to plant a long kiss on your forehead, then pushed aside the tent flaps to start his day. Deciding to deal with the nervousness that possessed your body, you marched towards Godiva. If you had to look like a society woman, well then, so did she.  
Godiva thoroughly enjoyed the attention. You spent the morning on the lake shore with your sleeves rolled up, covered with soap and Absorbine until her brown coat shined. Her ears and bottom lip drooped, hip cocked and relaxed while you scrubbed. You were almost jealous at how much she relished the care, not knowing what would be happening tomorrow. You covered her black hooves with an oily polish and combed out her mane and tail. She looked regal, while you were left looking like you had crawled from the depths of Flat Iron Lake.  
It wasn’t fear that kept you moving around camp. Rather, it was anticipation in the wake of what you had assumed was a huge event. Robbing someone like Amos Pilot, right under his nose, isn’t this something huge? For the rest of the gang, it was just another day. You would have almost preferred to have volunteered for this job the day of, just so it would be over and done with, instead of enduring the dreaded slogging of time, filling up your mind with every possibility of what could go wrong.  
Arthur strolled up to you as you hitched Godiva. “She’s lookin’ real good. You’ll blend in for sure on ‘er. You, however…” he gestured to you.  
“Oh, go on an’ say it. I need a bath.” You rolled your eyes, snapping a dirty towel in his direction.  
“Lemme take you into town, getchu cleaned up. Buy you a drink. You sure seem like ya need it.”  
You huffed, “Actually, Arthur, that sounds lovely. Thank you.”  
He smiled, extending a hand for you to take. “We’ll take my horse. Don’ wanna mess up all the work you put into yer mare.”  
He led you towards Britomartis and climbed into the saddle, holding out a hand to help you mount up behind him, both legs on tucked on the left side. You wrapped your hands around his waist as Arthur ushered Brit into a nice clip towards Rhodes. 

*****  
The sun burned hot in its descent to the west. You shielded your eyes with your hand as you looked on a dusty Rhodes, glowing with the dying rays.  
You followed close to Arthur as he jogged up the steps, waltzed up to the bar, paid for the whiskey, and escorted you up the spiral staircase. You walked passed the Black jack table towards the veranda that overlooked the railroad out of Rhodes. A slight wind shook the ivy leaves that clung to the lattice fencing. Arthur tossed his hat onto a small table in the corner and heavily sunk into the chair.  
“Now, Lenny ain’t here, so no gettin’ into trouble,” you teased.  
He grumbled under his breath, “It weren’t that bad, really.”  
“Oh, the money I’d pay to see something like that,” you shot back, tapping your chin and laughing.  
Arthur just raised his eyebrows at you and stretched an arm out behind your back, fingers idly playing with your hair. You fidgeted with the shot glass in front of you, taking in your surroundings. Arthur’s solid warmth, the breeze that blew a few strands of hair into your face, the songbirds chirping in the trees across the rail line. Arthur caught your attention, sliding his glass across the table to meet yours. You smiled, raised your glass to clink with his, and downed the whiskey, feeling it burn on the way down.  
“Maybe I don’t gotta make a big deal outta this,” you started, “you boys do this all the time.”  
“‘S’your first, normal to feel nervous,” he returned, “He’s got minimal guards, and you’ll be covered on all sides. Nothin’ to worry ‘bout. I wouldn’ send you into the lion’s den if you couldn’t handle it, or if you weren’ prepared.” He tapped your shoulder that his arm was around.  
“An’ Dutch would?” you shot back.  
He sighed. “Well, no, but-- I don’t think that’s fair.”  
“You’re probably right,” you looked back out at the rooftops of the main street. The sky was leaching into a saturated violet. “I don’t mean to sound angry at him. Or that I’m not with the gang. I’ve been a part of it for years, now. An’ he’s the man who raised you.” You glanced back at Arthur; his eyes were already on yours. “It surprised me, is all, when he said I couldn’t arm myself.”  
“But you will be.”  
“Thanks to you. An’ I know how he is, always preaching about keeping the faith.” You grabbed his hand in yours, and brought it to your chest. You were sure he could feel the nervous pounding of your heart. “But Arthur, I have faith in you, ya hear me?”  
You could feel his fingers curl into your top. He said nothing, but moved his hand from your shoulder to the back of your head, gently ushering you forward to meet your lips to his.  
“Woman-” he started.  
“Just let me be silly and romantic, you fool,” you smiled at him and held his hand in your lap. You looked up to see his blue eyes searching your face. “I’ll be alright,” you sidled up tighter to his side. “Now I do believe you promised me a bath, Mister Morgan.” 

Another shot of whiskey found you in the bath and Arthur sitting on a stool nearby, scribbling in his journal. You sunk your head down just enough to submerge your ears beneath the water. You closed your eyes, listening to the muted tones and tinny scrapes of your body in the water.  
You opened your eyes and peaked at Arthur, still keeping his eyes locked inside his journal. You moved in the water, leaning over the edge of the tub closest to him. You called his name softly, and he looked up. You reached a hand out, silently asking.  
He smirked and sighed, but stood from the stool and placed his journal and hat atop the seat. You bit a finger as you watched him undress, smiling as you felt the water shift when he stepped in behind you. When he settled, you pressed your back to his chest, laying your head on his shoulder. He looked down to steal a single searing kiss from you.  
With whisky in your veins and your man behind you, steeped in the steaming bathwater, the edge of anxiety that poked your stomach had rounded, and you were finally able to relax. 

*****  
The next time I’m in this cot, I’ll be done with this business.  
Morning had come, and brought a fierce sunshine upon camp that morning. The girls surrounded you, helping you look like the lady of distinction you were trying to be. You took Karen’s top hat and tipped it forward, the lip of the edge just touching your brow. For good measure, Mary-Beth had attached a cloth of sheer black lace that covered your face and criss-crossed your vision. Tilly had loaned you a pair of white kidskin gloves. Molly had even given you some red rouge to dab on your lips, and Abigail slipped an old brooch into your hand for good luck, which you clasped to the front of your high collar. Miss Grimshaw left a pair of her pearl earrings on your bedside table.  
“Oh, it’s so romantic, isn’t it?” Mary-Beth crooned as you hugged them each in turn.  
“Sure is, even if you rob’em blind,” Karen rolled her eyes.  
“But that just adds to it!” Mary-Beth argued, “a gentlelady thief! That can be dark and romantic, and fun!” She giggled.  
You pulled Karen aside as the girls left to carry on with their day.  
“Karen? Arthur told me ‘bout a job you did with them a few years back; something ‘bout you dressin’ up as a nun?”  
She snorted, “oh, yeah! That was fun. They weren’t expectin’ ‘sweet Sister Karen’ to be packin’ a shotgun ‘neath her habit!”  
“I guess, it just sounds an awful lot like what I’m doin’,” you continued. “I guess what I mean is, how’d you do it? You were so sure when you left to rob the Valentine bank. Weren’t you-- don’t you get nervous?”  
“I dunno, honey. I guess I just knew they’d have my back. We’d be okay. Arthur was there. That helped a lot. A shot a whiskey before don’t hurt, neither!” You smiled at that. 

*****  
You rolled your shoulders and straightened your back, waiting for the boys to arrive at the meeting place, just into the treeline a ways before the Pilot Plantation. You could see the top of the stoic house peeking out from above the foliage.  
The high collar of your shirt was stifling in the shimmering Lemoyne heat. The faint, whispering breezes seemed like a godsend. Suddenly, velvet seemed revolting to you. Godiva shifted beneath you. You leaned forward and patted her neck. Nervously, you rearranged a part of her mane that had flipped over to the opposite side. She turned her head as she heard a horse approaching. Arthur arrived and slipped off his horse, the sawed-off shotgun hanging from his shoulder.  
“You ready?”  
“I think so. Can you do it, Arthur?”  
“‘Course.” His hands slipped under the drapes of velvet. He gave your calf an encouraging squeeze that made you look down, suppressing a smile. “Okay, all set.”  
The shotgun weighed down on your leg, you adjusted yourself in the saddle.“M’okay. There’s a slug in each barrel. Let’s hope you don’t gotta need for ‘em.” He looked up at you as you saw Dutch trotting up on The Count, flanked by Micah on Baylock.  
“Is everyone prepared?” Dutch boomed, swinging his leg over the horn and walking towards you.  
“Jus’ look at her,” Arthur stated proudly. You sat up straighter as Dutch circled you and Godiva. She curved her neck slightly and into the bit; always the show-off, your horse. Her blood bay coat gleamed in the shadow of the trees. The black points on her legs and hooves shone like the curves of your velvet skirt. Your hair had been put up in a delicate plait on the back of your head, and Godiva’s tack had been oiled and cleaned. You and her were a team of radiance.  
“My dear, I do say, you were born for this,” Dutch nodded once. “Now, the boys have already started on the road around the plantation, you should see them from time to time. Arthur n’ Micah will stay here with a scope on you, to make you don’t get into too much trouble.”  
“Don’t go drinkin’ too much of that fancy wine, Lady Godiva,” Micah interjected. “We’ll be watchin’ who you end up flirtin’ with.”  
You whipped your head to shoot him a glare, but Arthur had moved closer. You reached your hand down, he took it and gently squeezed your fingers,” You’ve got this, sweetheart. And I’ve got you.”  
“I know you do. Alright, time for me to go. A lady of distinction such as myself can’t be seen runnin’ with a bunch of outlaws,” You squeezed his fingers in return then let go, and gathered Godiva into a trot, leaving the peripheral safety of the tree line.  
Your mind blanked as you approached the gate. You glanced down at Godiva, her mane a black sheen of waves, undulating in time with her steady trot.  
“Afternoon ma’am,” he said sternly. You noted the sun glint off his repeater. “This here’s private property.”  
“I’m very much aware,” you coiled. “I was asked here by an Amos Pilot. He’s expectin’...my company.” A pearl of sweat slid down your back. You watched his eyes follow your hand as you reached into your waistcoat to reveal the invitation Trelawney had recovered for you. He walked forward and snatched it from your gloved hands, then peered at it suspiciously.  
He waited for a moment before conceding. “Right this way, ma’am.”  
“I should say,” you ruffled his way as he moved to swing the iron gate that yawned a screech. Godiva pushed into a light trot down the pea gravel path that weaved through the property.  
The trimmed bushes stood stoic on either side of the white gravel path before the large two-story house. Tables with white cloth fluttered in the wind, and strings of lightbulbs criss crossed through the low hanging trees, whose droopy branches skimmed the red dirt. A small string ensemble sat in a corner of the ivy, bellowing out rolling melodies. Horses and people of all colors and sizes strolled about. You could see some heads bobbing above the straight hedges off towards the property’s edge. The faint sound of a gurgling fountain dipped between the music and conversation and horses. Godiva nodded at the new noises and smells, but quickly calmed down. You stroked her neck, unsure if it was for her nerves, or your own. You looked towards the property line, and noticed Javier and Boaz, looking like they were taking a leisurely stroll; Boaz’s head hanging low and swinging in-time with his strides. Godiva seemed to notice as well, and let out a shrieking whinny at the sight of Boaz. You quickly shushed her, hoping to blend in with the crowd.  
“My, what a lovely mare you have.”  
You looked up to see an older woman sidle up to you on a large dappled gray Hungarian Halfbred, his mane roached.  
“Oh, thank you. She’s my pride,” you replied, continuing to stroke her neck.  
“What is her lineage?” Her sharp eyes followed the well-knitted lines of Godiva’s conformation.  
“I do know she has a strong Thoroughbred connection,” you started, not wanting to start a lengthy conversation. “Unfortunately, all her papers were lost in a fire. Very tragic.”  
The woman frowned a bit. “Shame, she looks so regal. And you’re riding aside. Very traditional of you.”  
“I could say the same of you,” you retorted.  
She smiled at that. “Can’t seem to shake it! My mother was very insistent on it. Now I can’t get rid of the damned thing. And, Augustus takes to it well, he’s a good chap.” She patted the horse’s shoulder, then looked back at you. “What is your name?”  
“Helen. Helen Callahan,” you extended a hand. “My mother insisted on it, as well.”  
“Ebba Griffin,” she gave your hand a firm shake. “Care to accompany on a ride around Amos’ gardens?”  
“I would be delighted to,” you replied, and followed her on the outer path that snaked around the house. 

Ebba turned out to be a fair companion, you thought, as she rambled through stories of her adventures throughout India and China, the men she’s been with (and details that made you blush redder than a shepherds sunset), the sights she’s seen. The rides you took with Arthur were mostly shaped to the comfortable silence that you both enjoyed, but Ebba kept a hold on your attention, and you gasped and nodded at all the right moments, prying more stories out of her. She eventually slowed down after the death of her third and final husband, to where she was currently touring America at her leisure.  
“So, my dear, what husband are you on?” she threw you a jesting smile.  
“Oh, well actually-”  
“Not married yet?” you nodded in response. “Quite unusual, I should say, but I would know, since I myself am quite unusual,” she answered her own question, and you just smiled. “But you’ve got the look of a young woman with something behind those dashing eyes. Must be some kind of love, hm?”  
You fought the smile on your face and glanced over at the treeline. ”Yes ma’am,” you answered her, emboldened by the concept of talking about Arthur while he could see you, without hearing what you were saying. “I’ve got quite a man, Miss.”  
“You are smitten, aren’t you?”  
“Oh, quite. I tell him every day, yet he doesn’t believe me. He’s strong, and silent, and good.”  
“What’s his name?”  
“Arthur,” your smile widened.  
“Good name, strong name!” she raised her hand in the air, and Augustus quickened his stride. “Let’s ride back, I need a drink. Let’s toast to Arthur!”  
You laughed, trotting behind her. 

Ebba called over attendants holding chittering glasses of champagne on sparkling silver platters. One of those could earn you a new dress, you thought as you delicately plucked a coupe from the platter the waiter had lifted to you and Ebba, still seated on your horses.  
She raised her glass to you. “To men like Arthur… and my second husband!”  
“To Arthur!” you echoed, and downed the glass in one swig, feeling the bubbles dance down your throat.  
An attendant came and helped you dismount Godiva, leading her to a line of posts where other horses were being hitched. Ebba handed you another coupe, and you followed her towards the light and sound emanating from the party that had begun to grow as the night faded into a violet twilight.  
Following Ebba became a game of catch, either catching the glasses she idly tossed the more she consumed, or catching her before she fell into bushes or other people. Your cheeks hurt from smiling, finding it great fun to be in the company of someone who seemed so opposite of everything you remembered.  
You finally coaxed her to sit in a wrought iron chair, finding an attendant to fetch her some food. Over the sound of her broken giggles, you heard someone urgently whisper the name of Amos, and looked over to see a rotund man with a dark beard leaning towards an attendant who whispered in his ear, then strode towards the house, trying to hide the hurry in his step. You patted Ebba’s shoulder, then quickly followed the man.  
You flitted towards the rear entrance of the house, where the road was barely visible through the trees, on the other side of the fence. You slid into the shadowy mudroom, hearing the clunk of footsteps on the second floor. Your body moved, focused, forgetting your earlier anxiety. Creeping up the staircase, you noted a flickering golden light cut into the hallway. Lightly tiptoeing forward, you crept along the walls, closer towards the open door. Peeking your head to just see through the doorway, you spotted a man, hunching over an ornate desk, pressing his knuckles into the wood.  
“Amos, darling, please return to your guests! It’s rude to keep them waiting!” A female voice echoed from an adjoining room.  
Amos sighed and called out to the voice, then left through the other door. You breathed out, and scurried over the desk that was littered with paper. You sorted through them, some letters, some banking notes, and one heavy handed letter from Cornwall.  
“I know your name, Mr. Cornwall,” you muttered as you plucked it from the pile on the desk and began searching for the bonds Dutch had described. You slid the heavy drawers towards you, rummaging through the contents. You found a thin leather envelope that had a money clip in it, and tossed it on the rug. There was some jewelry: a pearl necklace and a few pocket watches that you tossed into the envelope.  
The other side of the desk opened as a cabinet, and when you flung it open it revealed a small, burly safe. You let out a breath, and tried to remember what Arthur had taught you about opening these blasted safes.  
You got down on your hands and knees, pushing your head into the cabinet and up against the cool metal, listening for the clicks.  
“Shit,” you whispered, when you heard the mechanism lock, and twisted the knob a few times to restart. You closed your eyes, listening again for the clicks. On your third attempt, the safe coughed. You gasped when you pushed down on the handle and the little door swung open, revealing sitting stacks of bound bonds.  
You picked one up and flipped it through your fingers. It was too much to count. Too many bonds. You smiled, stuffing the bonds into the envelope until it bulged with its contents.  
Footsteps were echoing through the hallway outside. You deftly shut the safe door closed, and carefully latched the cabinet closed, tucking the envelope under your waistcoat and scurrying to the door Amos had exited from, hoping it was another way outside.  
Once outside, you couldn’t stop the growing smile on your face. Was it really this easy? No wonder they did this all the time! When we return to camp Arthur is gonna get the best--  
You stopped mid-stride, there was a strong grip on your arm, and a cool pressure on your neck.  
“Not good to wander alone in the dark, pretty lady,” you winced away from the scratchy voice in your ear, warm breath on your skin. “Ah! Don’t fight me, if’n you wanna live,” the words slithered around you, as he pushed you towards the crowd.  
Ebba, still slumped in the chair, saw you walking back and waved to you. A shot rang out nearby, followed by gasps and screams. Another voice boomed above the commotion.  
“Good evenin’!” A man rode through the tables on a stout Appaloosa. “We are the Lemoyne fuckin’ Raiders, an’ we are gonna relieve you of your personal propertah!”  
More men on foot began to surround the patrons of the party. The man holding you pushed you forward. You found Ebba, reaching out for each other. You grabbed her arms and held on as the circle around you became tighter. You could feel the shotgun resting against your leg.  
A raider holding out a sack began to weave through the crowd. Women were already reaching up to unhook necklaces; men reluctantly tossed money clips into the sack.  
One raider roughly grabbed Ebba’s arm, trying to pry a gold ring from her hand. She screamed out. “No, you can’t!” she begged, “it was my late husband’s, please!”  
You reached for the raider. “Let go, she don’t wanna be touched!” you yelled, trying to release his grip. Another man came up and struck his hand around your throat. You tried to claw yourself free.  
“We take whatever we can get,” he spit in your face.  
“Let go!” you choked out.  
Another shot cracked through the air. The man before you was now crumpled on the ground, blood pooling around his head. You glanced back at the darkened trees before noticing the surprise on the man still gripping Ebba.  
“Ebba, get down!” You reached for her head with one hand, and with the other, snaked under your skirt and gripped the handle of the shotgun. You flung it out, aiming it into the raider’s chest and pulling the right trigger. He fell backwards, and chaos consumed you.  
Raiders and patrons ran in every direction. You reached for Ebba, but she was grabbed round the shoulders by a man in a disheveled tuxedo, whisking her farther into the commotion. You ran for the rear entrance of the house, hoping someone was there already, ready to cover you. You bumped and clashed with people trying to get away. Someone grabbed your arm, and you screamed with adrenaline, ripping your jacket off to reveal the white sleeves of your shirt and ran faster, still clutching the shotgun. You whistled for Godiva, hoping she didn’t run too far when the shooting started. You scrambled under the fence to see Godiva trot up right after where John and Bill were waiting in the underbrush.  
“Where...where are the others?” you huffed between breaths, leaning on your knees.  
“Dunno,” Bill replied. “They shoulda been here by now. We came ridin’ when we heard the first gunshot.”  
“Damnit,” you huffed.  
John dismounted Old Boy and brought Godiva to you. You took her reins and pressed your forehead to her brow, holding her head close.  
Micah appeared, charging up on Baylock. He swung his leg over the horn. “That was some fuckin’ mess,” he drawled, and looked at you. “Saw you enter the house. Did’ya get the bonds Dutch asked for?”  
You looked around for Brit’s jagged blaze in the darkness, but neither she nor Arthur had yet appeared. You peered around Micah.  
“Where’s Arthur?” your heart clenched.  
“I thought he was right on my tail, princess,” Micah sneered, glancing around him.  
“After he let out that rifle shot, we heard ah group of them movin’, so we started to move.”  
“No, no, no, no,” you repeated, marching towards him. You pushed him with the flat of your heels. You grabbed his lapels. Tried to shake him hard.  
“Micah, where is he?” you cried. Hot tears outlined your cheeks.  
“Micah!” you cried again. “Micah! Where’s Arthur?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry (not sorry?) about the cliffhanger. Y’all, I’m excited. Sometimes I feel I have to streamline out all the detail I want to put in. But I’ve got a spicy epilogue brewing! Also, sometimes I’m burning the candle at both ends when I write this, and I don’t realize I’ve changed the tense. If you notice anything, please feel free to leave a comment or message me!  
> Also, I could have SWORN there was a piece of conversation with Karen where she describes robbing a bank dressed as a nun, but I can’t find it on youtube! Seems like something she’d do, so I kept it in. You’ll just have to take my word for it. 
> 
> Thanks for reading. Aside the Outlaws is also available on tumblr.


	5. The Doe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You charge into the night, determined to find Arthur, not knowing what you’ll find - or won’t find.

Considering the lifestyle you had stumbled into, there were only a few times where you felt your body was a separate being from you, or your mind. It moved, independently of your wants or needs. You were only slightly aware of the wind nipping your sore eyes or the rocking of the saddle. Godiva crashed through the dark forest, her grunts drowning out the desperate wails you tried to hide from the trees themselves. 

John had tried to stop you.  
“C’mon now, wait a minute,” he grasped your arm, “just wait for Charles, we can find him.”   
You shoved the leather envelope into John’s chest. “I’m not sitting around another second, John. Take these back to Dutch, it’s what he wanted, plus more on Cornwall. Now help me up.”  
“What are you gonna do?”  
“Find him, John!” you nearly screamed, exasperated.   
“It’s too dark!” he shot back  
“Then I’ll burn the fucking forest down,” you seethed.  
John glared at you, his eyes searching your face. You could feel yourself breaking down, heart too hyped up on the crash of the party to really think about anything. John was hazy in your teary vision.   
“Here, then. Take this.” He reached for his belt and slapped the hilt of his bowie knife into your hand. “You take this, find him, bring him home.” He lifted you up onto Godiva who immediately picked up a choppy trot in the direction of the dark forest. 

And here you were, eyes burning, body lead-heavy, horse tired. The weight of the forest seemed to fall in around you. A single shell in the barrel of a shotgun and a borrowed knife were all you had to support you in bringing Arthur home. It has to be enough. I have to make it enough, you repeated, over and over. Had it really been less than a day? All that tension, all that worry, twisted like a cord that snapped you right in two.   
You reached the hidden meeting place, now smaller and warped by the darkness. Nothing looked out of the ordinary, but you were never the best tracker. Godiva sighed beneath you, pawing the earth. In the faint glint of moonlight, you noticed a single rifle shell; that must have been from the shot Arthur had taken when you were in the Raider’s grasp.  
“He can’t be far, right girl?” you whispered to Godiva.   
It was too dark to make out any hoofprints, no way to tell which way Arthur and Britomartis went. You sigh, your chest heaving with more desperate wails. You peeked out through the trees, and decided to head to the next dense cropping in the opposite direction hoping that if he had to run, he also had to stay out of sight.   
Godiva picked up a slow canter. You silently took out the shotgun, letting your arm hang down. You only become half aware that you were missing the riding cane. You looked behind you, and didn’t see a single soul. Not even the screech of a fox or owl’s hoot could be heard. No one riding the road that slithered nearby, no one out camping or hunting nearby. No outlaws by your side. This was never part of the plan.   
The cropping of trees was quiet. If Arthur had come through here, you couldn’t see any signs. The world was quiet as you and Godiva moved through it like ghosts. You continued forward, the only direction you had were places you thought Arthur might take, even if you didn’t know why.   
At last, a sniffle let loose a sob you had been holding back. Your shoulders sagged. How long you had searched, you didn’t know. Were you even in Lemoyne anymore?   
“Fuck it all,” you whispered.   
Godiva slowed to a walk right in front of a small pond that gathered where the earth had sunk into a small hill. Little waves lapped at the gnarled roots of thirsty trees. Her ears swiveled to you as you gingerly slid from the saddle and fell to the ground. You hobbled to the water as Godiva took a step forward and lowered her head to take a sip. You reached a hand forward and noticed your figure for the first time. Hands bloody and soiled, white sleeves torn and strands of hair pulled from your braid. You sunk your hands into the cool water then lifted them to your face that was burning with tears once more.   
I can’t go back without him, I just can’t. What the hell, Arthur? Where did you go? What happened?  
You sat at the edge of the water as your thoughts curled in around you. Godiva stood patiently next to you, head drooping. Something cracked on the other side of the pond, and Godiva’s head snapped up, muscles tightening. You snatched her reins and looked across the water.   
A doe stumbled through the thicket and splashed into the water, her narrow chest heaving. Something wobbled on her left side; an arrow had missed its mark and was dangling from her shoulder, threatening to fall. You remained still as you watched her fall over herself.   
“Hellfire!” a groggy voice called out from up the hill. The deer hobbled through the water and bolted in the opposite direction. You crouched, leading Godiva up the hill, to see a man mount a shaggy Appaloosa, her spotted rump shining in the moonlight. He was the only person you had seen all night; there was nothing to do but follow him.   
The way the Appaloosa weaved away, you had assumed the man was drunk. With a breath you steadied yourself and jumped to grab the cantle, pulling yourself up and righting your legs in the saddle. You clicked your tongue and Godiva trotted after the man.   
After watching the man teeter in the saddle for a while, he led you to a small pinprick of light up a hill. You cut through the woods, staying in the shadows until you could clearly see a campfire with a makeshift tent leaning against a large trunk. Figures slowly moved through the orange light, and a shadow was slumped against a tree, away from the light.   
You dismounted Godiva and slowly led her closer. You dropped her reins and looked back at her.  
“Stay here, girl,” you cooed.   
You moved slowly towards the light, hearing the wood crackle and the soft grunts of someone sleeping nearby. The shadow stirred and let out a pained groan.   
“...Arthur?” you hissed. You rushed to his side, hands lightly reaching out and squeezing his arms. He’s here, he’s here. You found him. Relief flooded your lungs.  
“W’uts… goin’ on? Darlin’?” he slurred, having difficulty keeping his head up. You reached around and cut the rope binding his hands together. Then gently taking his chin in your hands, you turned his head to see a shiny trail of blood running from his temple.   
“Those bastards,” you whispered into his sweaty forehead after planting a kiss. You tried to maneuver Arthur to slowly stand. He grappled with the tree for a moment, then reached an arm out for you to duck under, and wrapped your own arm around his wide waist. “Where’s…” you huffed under his weight, “where’s Brit?”  
“Dunno,” he groaned back. “I shot off that round when that raider had his hands on you, an’ got up to follow Micah down to the party. Blacked out after tha’.” He growled as his strength returned to him.   
“You stay here, rest a minute, I’ll look for her, she might be with their horses.” Before he could begin to argue, you slinked back into the shadows and rustled through the brush that surrounded the campfire. You counted 3 men, easily handled, if you stayed quiet. Not too far away, you made out Brit’s crooked blaze warmed by the firelight.   
Brit! Her saddlebags… With Arthur’s extra sidearms.   
Before you could sneak over to the horse, one of the drunkards stumbled around the tree, aiming to relieve himself.   
“Whud’re we gonna do with da Dutch boy?” He groggily yelled over his shoulder towards the other two. Arthur had slunk back down the tree trunk, still unable to stand on his own, and tucked his hands behind his back hoping they wouldn’t notice that the ropes had been cut.   
One of the men seemed to be passed out near the fire, twitching in his sleep. The one you had followed to the campsite was quickly following suit, as the whiskey bottle in his hands slipped lower and lower, then plunked to the ground from his crouched position.   
The last man standing started to agitate Arthur, still too weak, and you couldn’t waste another moment. Your body shook with anger. You leapt out from the brush, pushed him away and whipped the shotgun in his face. Your arms were spread wide and your back was pressed to Arthur’s chest as a shield.   
You pulled the trigger and fired your last round. The man before you crumpled to the earth. Your nose bristled from the sour smell of gunpowder. The light from the fire sparkled on a wet, dark hole in his chest.   
You dropped the gun. The other two snapped awake before you could rile enough energy in Arthur. One of them scrambled to his feet and ran towards you. You braced against him, your legs shaking under his weight as he tried to push you to the ground. You cried out, and faintly heard Arthur boom your name. Suddenly Godiva squealed, thundering up with her ears pinned and teeth barred. You squirreled away from the raider just as Godiva swung around on her haunches and kicked out, sending the man back a few feet where he lay still. She grunted and trotted a circle, snorting and pawing the earth.   
“Good girl!” You cried through a dry throat.   
Helping Arthur lean against Godiva, You ran and led Britomartis to him. By the grace of God Arthur was able to swing a foot into the stirrup and you pushed him up. You swung up into your own saddle and righted yourself, seeing the last raider emerge from the tent, awkward and bleary-eyed with a gun in his hand. You grabbed Brit’s reins and led them away. 

Arthur was hunched over Brit’s neck as she followed you and Godiva down the winding trail. You heard the distant thundering of hooves, the raider must have found your trail.   
“C’mon girl, please, please, we gotta go,” you whispered a plea, as she lowered her head and groaned, surging forward with power.   
A bullet whizzed past your ear, you raised your hand in surprise and let go of Brit’s reins. She broke away with a skittish leap, heading down the opposite side of the lake shore.   
You uselessly reached out. “No!” Arthur must have passed out again, as he let Brit take him away, hopefully back to camp.   
You thundered down a hill and passed a crowding of trees. Flat Iron Lake broke open in your vision, dark and glassy in the night. For an instant, it looked like the large mirror in the parlor, over the fireplace from your childhood home. It hung in the background of your mind.   
The man rode up on your left. The horses veered to the side, splashing in the water. You unhooked your left leg from under the pommel and struck out at him. Your boot met his shoulder before you felt a grip on your leg, but your right leg in the leaping pommel saved you from being pulled down.  
Then, the horses squealed, lost their balances, and crashed nose-first into the shallows of the lake. Your right leg screamed with the pain of holding you in the saddle and you hobbled into the water, your velvet skirt weighing you down.  
The horses bounced to the shore; the raider’s horse bolted up the rocky terrain while Godiva trotted around in a panic and whinnied, unsure of what to do. The raider had his arms dipped in the water, like he was feeling around for something. You waded towards him in a flurry of wet petticoats, making sure he wouldn’t succeed.   
Too late; He roared out when he lifted the pistol with a wave. You stared into the eye of the barrel and saw his finger pull back. You closed your eyes in a flinch and turned away.   
Nothing happened. The firing pin clicked, clicked, clicked.   
“Fuck!” you started again, grabbing the cold steel and wrestling it from the man’s hands. You surprised him and flung it from his hands. The pistol slipped from your fingers and soared above, landing deeper in the lake with a plunk!  
“Augh, bitch!” He grabbed for you, but you leapt away and back towards shore. You whistled for Godiva who whinnied back as the man waded closer and closer. The silty shore solidified beneath your feet. You reached for John’s knife hidden in the waistline of your skirt and turned on the man. But he didn’t stop when he saw the blade. He rushed you with a yell, and you were once again locked in a wrestle for control.   
He pushed you down and your back hit the ground, hard. It jolted you, and he grabbed for the knife. The heel of his palm plunged the cold blade into your shoulder. You cried out, if only out of surprise. You squirmed under his weight. Godiva shrieked somewhere close by. You could feel her stomp her hooves. She continued to dance around, unsure of what to do. With panic controlling her motion, she charged at the man, sliding to a stop and rising into a powerful rear.   
The raider spooked at your horse for only a moment. He let go of you to flinch as he looked up at her, and it was all you needed to kick a leg out, then strike up at his groin with your knee. He yelped and rolled over in pain. You moved with him, and the knife with you, still wobbling from your shoulder  
Your hand grasped the handle. In one swift movement, you pulled the knife from your shoulder and lodged it into its final resting place in his scruffy throat. You stared away; at the upheaved sand, at the gentle lake waves and the man shook beneath you and finally ceased.   
You pushed away, gasping toward the starry sky. Godiva relaxed after some time and stood quietly nearby, playing with the bit in her mouth. Groaning, you sat up and looked over. She perked her ears up.   
“Good girl,” you whispered.   
You slowly rose to your feet, holding a pained groan between your teeth, and stumbled towards your horse. She diligently stood still as you checked the saddle. Her ear turned towards you. You gather the reins and tensed your muscles to leap into the saddle. Then, your knees buckled. 

*****  
You awoke in your cot.

Or Heaven, you weren’t sure. You didn’t much care. If Heaven was a gentle light that illuminated bright canvas walls and fluttered in a cool breeze, you contemplated spending forever just lying in that simple cot. Gulls cawed somewhere in the distance. A musky lake scent wafted through the canvas flaps with a figure who laid something down next to your head and silently left. Your hand felt warm; you moved it away and felt something shuffle next to you.   
“Sweetheart…”  
Your head snapped towards the voice. Arthur was slumped in a stool by the cot, cradling your hand with one of his.   
“Oh, Arthur…!” Your voice cracked as you tried to reach for him. He gently pushed your shoulders back into the cot then cupped your cheeks with his hands. You tried grabbing at his forearms and found your right arm held back by a sling. Your shoulder burned with the movement.  
“Wh-what happened? Godiva—“ You stammered.  
“Now, just rest. All in due time.”   
Your eyes darted around the tent. It was still your tent. Your hat still hung from the tent post. Arthur’s mother gazed outward from her portrait. A pitcher of water stood on the night table. Arthur rubbed your cheeks with his thumbs, and you turned back to him.   
“I..I…”  
“It’s okay, now. I can’t believe,” he swallowed, his voice caught on a painful thought. “I almost lost you, babygirl.”   
“I almost lost you,” you countered through a dry whisper.   
“All that really matters is I still got you.” His voice was low, “we got each other.”   
“Always, Arthur.” You squeezed his forearms and your eyes felt heavy.   
“Rest, darlin’.”  
“Mm-, wait,” you tried to speak through the tiredness. “Godiva?” You asked, already letting your body settle into a comfortable rest.   
“She‘s fine,” Arthur replied. You had already gone back to sleep before you could feel any relief. 

*****  
The next time you awoke, the canvas was a calm lavender. Dull orange shadows danced on the makeshift walls. The tent was empty and the camp sounded quiet. You attempted to stand, wobbling, your right elbow pushing against the sling that cradled your arm to your front. You clumsily stepped up and pushed your boots on before stepping over to Arthur’s shaving mirror and turning around to assess the pain that started to bloom on your back. Bandages had been wrapped around your shoulder and down your side. 

You stumbled out of your tent, clumsy with your arm pinned to your front. You walked through camp. Javier tipped his hat your way, Charles threw you a small wave. It seemed as though camp life had resumed, but you had felt it had completely changed. Was it the rhythm of camp, or you that had changed?   
Mary-Beth waved you over.   
“How are you feeling?”  
“Oh, I’ve been better, I think.” You fussed with the makeshift cast and gritted your teeth.   
“That’s for sure,” she offered, “Don’t worry. Scars have the best stories.”  
You smiled and continued your walk headed towards the grazing horses.   
Suddenly, you felt a small pressure on the small of your back.  
“Glad to have you and Arthur back in the land of the living,” Dutch’s raspy voice said. He walked around you and pressed your sawed-off shotgun into your hands, without wavering eye contact. You recalled the Shire stud again, lost in his dark eyes. That colt always did have a mean streak in him. Never get too close to those sneaky ones, your pa would say.   
“I’m glad he’s safe, too,” you returned a heavy, strained smile. You had completely forgotten about the shotgun, or where you had even dropped it. A shiver shot up to your skull.   
“Good job, gettin’ those bonds. This could be a good thing. For the future of the gang.”  
“Perhaps, Dutch. Thank you.”   
He stood still, only his eyes following you as you moved around him and quickly headed towards the horses. Dutch’s face remained in your mind, but for now, that is where it would stay. You had more important beings to hold and see once more. 

Godiva was grazing by herself at the edge of camp. The sidesaddle had been removed from her back, and someone had been currying her coat. You set down the shotgun leaning against a tree trunk and ran your hand through her long mane. She lifted her head for a moment, still chewing on the lush grass. She looked absolutely perfect.   
“Look who’s finally out of bed,” a gravelly voice came from behind you. You turned on your heels.  
“Oh, Arthur,” you strode forward and into his arms. He smiled and gently gathered you in his arms, minding your shoulder.   
You touched Arthur’s hairline. “How are you?”  
“Ah, I’m alright. I heal quick.” His eyes crinkled in a warm smile that your fingertips hovered over. His eyes shifted and he looked at you more seriously. “How are you doing? What happened, darlin’?”   
“I could ask you the same question, Arthur. After that man at the party.” Arthur just huffed. “But I don’t really wanna talk about it. Not now, anyway.” You leaned in closer, and Arthur tightened his hold on you. With your ear pressed against his chest, you could hear his steady heartbeat. Feel the warmth of his skin. His chin rested on the crown of your head. You felt enclosed, safe and warm. You could hear Godiva close by, ripping up grass with her lips, swishing her tail.   
You leaned away to catch his gaze.   
“What is it, darlin’?”   
“Nothin’, I think. I just-“ you took a breath and steeled yourself. “Arthur, all the bonds and gold in the world ain’t worth losing you. And I’m grateful. For you. And Godiva. That we’re here. I think, that’s all I need to say, right now.”   
“Darlin’-“ he whispered, and pulled you into a bright kiss where all you needed to do was close your eyes and love him dearly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> his one hit a wall, guys. Sorry for the wait. This is not the original ending, but that is okay because it’s done and I get to share it. Thank you to everyone who read it, and asked for more!   
> A cheeky epilogue is on the way.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> This was originally posted on my tumblr on 20 May 2019, and I've been persuaded to finally put it up here.


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